


On The Backs Of Dragons

by orphan_account



Category: Lawrence of Arabia (1962), Temeraire - Novik
Genre: AU, Dragons, Multi, Subtext, Worldbuilding, multiple POVs, pov switching, xover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lawrence gets some help on his campaign from the RAF. No, the other RAF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Backs Of Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched _Lawrence of Arabia_ recently for yuletidecoughcough and then remembered thinking hey, if I ever rewatch LoA (which seemed to unlikely at the time!) I should totally write that LoA/Temeraire Xover. And then I did... and then I did. And here we are. I apologize in advance. Set vaguely post VoE (but low on the spoilers, I think) for Temeraire and before Gasim dies for LoA. Some screwing around with history obviously happened because DRAGONS. Or at least that is the excuse I am using for any screwups, but feel free to point them out &gt;&gt;

The shadow was huge, and for one moment, a blessing. Then, the guns started. The men around them began to scream, calling the creature above them a devil, before-- and quite surprisingly so, Lawrence had to admit-- the creature responded in turn.

"I'm not a devil! I'm a dragon-- Laurence, tell them I'm not a devil-"

Lawrence was somewhat surprised to be called by name, and by a dragon no less, but as the dragon was flying English colors wrapped into its rigging, he supposed it was no great surprise that they had his name. A steady reminder: he was probably their commanding officer, in one form or another.

The dragon swooped upward, far out of the range of any artillery, a deep shadow remaining over their party. Lawrence tried to yell over the din of still-firing guns. "Men- Men! The dragon is on our side-"

Ali took this time to join in, his voice always louder than Lawrence's. "The dragon is English!"

A volley came from above. "Is that all I had to say?"

Lawrence could not hear the answer, presumably given by the dragon's captain; only the words spoken to his men, through a speaking-trumpet. Unlike the rest of the royal armed forces, the RAF still relied largely on non-elecrtonic means; though it was not the loudest instrument now available, a speaking-trumpet was much hardier than bullhorn, especially on the backs of dragons. "We are going to land. Please, do not shoot."

It was not a slow process, as Lawrence had seen with what few planes he'd encountered in his life. The dragon landed quickly, a great flap of its black wings, letting down two men now dusted thoroughly with sand.

The dragon rose its head, bringing it back to let the taller of the two men down. It then waited, folding his wings in the pretense of calm. The shorter of the two men began to ignore their company entirely, in favor of-- Lawrence was not sure, at first, but eventually it seemed as though he was going through, searching for places where bullets had landed in the dragon's hide. In this time, the captain had made his way towards their company, and Lawrence pulled his camel over, getting down and saluting. "Lieutenant Lawrence, sir."

Behind them both, the man tending to the dragon, made a noise-- quite like a laugh. The dragon captain seemed nonplussed. He saluted in turn. "Captain Will Laurence, on Temeraire." He motioned to his dragon.

Ali made a low, whistling noise, and said, "We'll call him 'Will'," in Arabic.

Lawrence turned and responded in kind, "You will do no such thing. That is very disrespectful, Ali."

Ali did not reply, then, but if Lawrence hadn't known better, he would have thought Ali had rolled his eyes before pulling his camel away to attend to some other matter.

The shorter man, now finished with the dragon, walked over to them. "No serious injuries; most of these guns can't pierce his skin, much less get very far." He was wiping dragon's blood off his hands, onto his robes. His skin was very dark. He seemed to have realized his company, then, or perhaps stopped ignoring it, for he looked to Lawrence and said, "Tharkay."

The dragon captain added, "My maidservant."

Next to him, Tharkay scoffed, but said nothing. The captain continued on, "In official capacity."

"I preferred it when I was 'the translator'."

The look the dragon captain gave him was small, but long-suffering. Tharkay made a 'tsk'ing sound and walked back to the dragon.

"I assume you have been sent from the admiralty?" Lawrence said, now that introductions were out of the way; he doubted any other Englishman had a great interest in the names of _his_ men, if he could pronounce them.

"Yes," said the captain, "We are to aid you in any way possible."

Lawrence found this passing strange, and said as much, prompting the dragon captain to explain, "It was either that, or send their most valuable dragon to the breeding grounds." He paused, and his next words seemed to bring him no little pain, "I have come to understand that the desert is where we send our undesirables, though in this I mean you no disrespect, lieutenant." His words lacked all traces of sarcasm, and so Lawrence patted him roughly on the shoulder, smiling.

"Be that as it may! I see that's why you have so little a crew."

"Ah, yes. The admiralty was hesitant to expend any official officers; luckily my... _translator_ was willing to follow us."

"He is an Arab?"

"No, he is... _not_ an Arab." The dragon captain fidgeted, then, and Lawrence found asking questions about either of them would, very likely, be impolitic. The captain continued, "Though, we are used to operating with a larger crew than two men, and will need some of your own, if you can... spare any." A pause. "I understand if that is not the case." The next pause was longer, the words seemingly lighter. "Temeraire himself assures me-- and wanted me to tell _you_\-- that he would do the job himself if he could, but his talons are too long and sharp."

Lawrence chuckled to himself before giving a long whistle, prompting Daud and Farraj to come running from the cluster of people, abeit slowly; they, like all the men, were somewhat wary of the dragon. "I trust your _translator_ can instruct them?"

"I trust he can."

•

The men were cautious around the dragon for the entire day, and more, until midday of the next. Ali heard the conversation to the back of him, and up somewhat, as both Captain Laurence and the man called Tharkay (he was called Translator, but Ali had not yet heard him speak a word of Arabic, or Farsi or any other useful language on these sands) rode on the dragon instead of any camel.

"Do you think so?" came the thundering voice of the dragon. The men had become quite used to it, though still they did not stray too close to the dragon's teeth or its huge, black talons.

"I do indeed. Commendable idea, Tharkay."

And with that, the dragon spread one giant wing out, covering the entire company and shielding them from the midday sun.

They did not fear the dragon much, after that.

•

Laurence was not much surprised when the matter came to heads over food. Temeraire needed more food than any man among the camp, and that would of course come by camel. Laurence would have bought them from his fellow travelers himself, except he no longer had such access to his funds.

Their leader-- Laurence found himself unable to use the other man's name, however disrespectfully-- had a proposition, and Laurence found himself unable to turn it down. "We'll see how long it lasts. If it goes to rot, we'll simply think of something else!"

Laurence was sure the lieutenant's general and constant flippancy and joviality was a means of distracting himself from their task, or perhaps meant as an inspiration to his men. He attempted not to let his efforts go in waste. "Of course, lieutenant."

His companion spoke up, and it was the first time Laurence had heard him speak in English. Laurence still expected Tharkay to lean over and whisper the translation in his ear, despite understanding perfectly what the man said.

"The men will accept shade from a dragon, yes, but I do not know how they will feel of _riding_ one, Aurens."

It took a moment for Laurence to catch the meaning of the word-- a form of his _name_\-- and by then, the Lieutenant had already answered, racing his camel ahead. "Then we'll have to find out, won't we, Ali? Hut, hut, hut!" He strode to the front of the party, now stalled for the night, huddled to Temeraire's side. "Everyone! Men!"

Ali whistled, and all heads turned. He pointed to the lieutenant, _Aurens_.

"Men! The dragon needs food!" He stopped smiling abruptly when a slow wail was taken up by the camp, by those few that could speak English. Temeraire, understandably, took offense to this.

"I don't eat _people_!" he spat. "That would be very uncivilized." Temeraire almost sounded hurt, curling his tail in around him.

Laurence had never heard Ali laugh before. He had heard the lieutenant laugh, but it never so loudly. Perhaps it was a way of controlling his men, by laughing at something they feared. If so, Laurence could only commend him for the effort.

"Yes, yes, he needs camels! And as you can see, he is a very big dragon." The lieutenant did not seem to expect when Temeraire puffed out his ruff in pride. He laughed again, before continuing. "So, Captain Laurence--" He pointed, "has kindly offered that anyone willing to donate their camel tonight can ride the dragon in the morning."

Understandably, the camp was hesitant, even after the lieutenant had repeated the entire speech, Laurence assumed, in Arabic. He then called over to the two boys who had become Temeraire's unofficial runners. He said something to them in Arabic, very loudly, and Laurence did not flinch when Tharkay leaned down to quietly translate, his breath sneaking in wisps around his ear. "These men are too afraid to ride a dragon, he's saying. Are you?"

Tharkay did not need to translate the shouts from the men, soon after, or the looks of stern determination on the boy's faces. They pulled their screaming camel over to Temeraire, who said, very clearly over the camel and the men, "_Shukran jazīlan_."

Behind them, Ali gave a sharp bark of laughter. "The dragon speaks better Arabic than its master."

"I am a _he_, not an _it_," Temeraire corrected.

If Ali was surprised or even bothered from being chastised by a twenty-two ton dragon, he did not show it. He only said, "Say that in Arabic." And walked to his tent.

Of course, he turned back around when, after a moment's pause, Temeraire did.

•

While Laurence was by no means the perfect man, he was a saint in comparison to his doppelganger. Tharkay idly considered renaming both of them: If Lawrence was El Aurens, Laurence could be what the Chinese called him: Lao Ren Se. (Or perhaps the more creative nicknames they had for him; 'Dragon Thief' did have a nice ring to it in the original Cantonese.)

Again, the matter came to food. This El Aurens (who Tharkay was beginning to understand only had experience with Turkish dragons: still something, but not quite enough) had made a comment that Temeraire had taken offense to. He had tried to hide it admirably, but Laurence had no qualms about comforting him, and Temeraire had no qualms about receiving comfort.

This was all well and good when one had no reason to hide injury. As it was, they were still not quite trusted by the Arabs; causing more friction, much less highlighting that that already existed, would be counterproductive at best.

"I am not eating _that_ much," Temeraire grumbled, and Aurens spoke from his place on the dragon's back, long since having given his camel up to the cause.

"I did not mean to imply any such thing!" He was still _smiling_. "Only, I had thought they ate less. Obviously, my calculations were off."

Temeraire grumbled something about, if Tharkay heard correctly, humans' general inability to do math.

"As far as I am aware, Turkish dragons do eat less, on average, but that is only due to their environment." Laurence patted a part of Temeraire's massive head. "It would be much like you trying to breathe fire."

Temeraire's ruff flared up, "_Iskierka_ eats less?"

At this, Aurens leaned back to laugh. "A rival dragon?"

"She is not a _rival_." Temeraire huffed, blowing up a small gust of sand. The camels grunted in weary protest. "She is simply very annoying and very spoilt. I can eat less than her."

"I was not aware it was a contest." Tharkay noted, and Aurens laughed again. (It was probably habitual, Tharkay mused. Like that constant, mocking grin of his-- Tharkay shuttered at the hypocrisy.)

"But do correct me if I am confused; I was only aware the RAF had one fire-breather."

"Yes, and that is Iskierka. Though she isn't much good and we should never have rescued her egg from Turkey in the first place."

Laurence sighed and began correcting Temeraire ("My dear, surely you do not mean--") before Aurens sprung up in apparent excitement, interrupting.

"You mean _you_ are the dragon that stole those eggs from Turkey?"

Nothing quite fixed Temeraire's temper like this did. His ruff spread in apparent pride. "We did, Laurence and Granby and the rest of the crew and I."

Laurence coughed.

"And Tharkay." Temeraire added.

Tharkay resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

•

Temeraire pretended he was asleep, and it was nearly so. He was groggy, half-awake-- not that he was _tired_; the desert just took a great deal of energy, especially when they rarely stopped for water or rest. The sun was hot and foreboding. The night was better, cool.

He could hardly make out the words of the two men, the only men who lapsed into English when they were comfortable (Tharkay tended to favor a language Temeraire did not know, and Tharkay would not teach him).

Their voices floated, clear and comforting, in the merciful night air. "Votes? You mean to tell me it is your opinion that dragons deserve the _vote_?"

Temeraire faintly heard Laurence's reply, "Yes," and, "I do."

"Well, I- I do not envy you in the task. England is uneasy at the idea of women having the vote, much less _dragons_." Their English guide paused, and Temeraire, half-awake and half-aware, felt strangely discomforted. "Do you think you will succeed?"

"My success is not the matter at hand, though I should wish it." but there was Laurence's voice again, cool and soft. "It matters most that I try, for the sake of my peers."

Temeraire had drifted to sleep, then and finally, and did not hear the even softer reply.

"Ah. That, I think, I can understand."


End file.
